When I was little, I always thought I’d live to eighty-eight — so when I turned forty-four, I figured I was half way to my dream death date, chronologically at least. (Although someone once told me that because time seems to pass slowly for children, and speeds up as we age, perceptually we’ve had half our life by the time we’re twelve.)
Here’s a flash fiction I wrote back in 2010:
(EIGHTY-EIGHT was first published in 52|250 (2010). Thanks to editors
Michelle Elvy, John Wentworth Chapin and Walter Bjorkman.)
Thanks for the post and the link to the story. It’s wonderful — the plays on counting, that marvelous line “… she did the maths/Not every night…”, the remarkable ending,
Hey, thank you!